


Repay Evil with Blessing

by Rosenregen



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8675413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosenregen/pseuds/Rosenregen
Summary: „Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.“





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell, I did it. This is literally the very first fanfic I ever uploaded anywhere! Please, have mercy with a non-native speaker who tried REALLY hard to write a little something about her OTP :') Feedback is very much appreciated - if anyone ever happens to read this.

They wouldn’t put labels on things, simply because it was easier not to.

The mobster boss was a religious – and not to forget married – man, at least somewhat honorable and certainly well-respected. He had a reputation to lose. The Alabamian was none of that. A murderer, a pedophile, a rapist. He wasn’t worshipped, he was feared. Most importantly, though, he had nothing to lose.  
This, on the one hand, meant he could easily have him over a barrel if he wanted to. On the other hand, though, it meant he could, more or less, tacitly submit to the demands of the other man. Admittedly, usually the latter was the case. He let him have his way with him, at least most of the time. Maybe because he was used to revolting, yet eventually submitting to a certain kind of authority figure. And John was exactly that. He was almost brimming over with a presence full of control and power. Power that he knew very well how to exert over someone.

However, things had changed over the past few weeks. Abruzzi was gone. Or more precisely, _had been_. Perhaps there was at least some truth to this whole guardian-angel-gibberish and all that other religious nonsense he kept babbling on about. How else could he have survived a cut that was meant to be lethal?  
There were many things he wanted. John Abruzzi was undoubtedly one of them. However, he had had to get his priorities straight and eventually that meant getting rid of the mobster boss before he got the drop on him. He knew very well he was the odd man out, which had left him no choice. They wouldn’t have taken him voluntarily, so he’d had to grind out his place in Pretty’s team.  
His memories of that day were still vivid. He remembered hearing his heart thudding dimly in a mix of tension and eagerness, remembered slipping the edge of the razor against his throat, remembered the red spurting out, remembered a deep sigh of satisfaction, remembered leaving him there, on the dirty concrete floor in a pool of his own blood. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should’ve waited until John breathed his last in order to make sure he’d done him in for good. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. Imprudent, yes, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to watch. He did what he had to do, which didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to. After all, he’d grown fond of the mobster and his attempts to teach him discipline for some inexplicable reason, just like a disobedient dog that sought its master’s leash.

It was _fear_ that had crept in what felt like every single fibre of his body when he saw him. He wasn't dead, hell, he had probably never looked more alive than he did now. The Alabamian wasn’t quite sure whether or not to regret his previous actions - certainly not because of any inappropriate feelings, no, he had been more than willing to make that sacrifice for his own freedom. If anything, he regretted his failure to get the job done properly, mostly because he was convinced that the Italian’s return was inextricably tied to his number being up. He should've just died in that shed, he thought, but sadly John wouldn't do him that favour.

###

His life was more important than his dignity, he decided, and found himself begging for mercy in a frantic and shaky voice. He pleaded for a truce in an almost piteous manner, trying to get through to the man of God Abruzzi claimed to be. In a desperate attempt to soothe the mobster, he tried to move him to pity, tried to remind him of what they’d had before the incident. Couldn’t they just go back and pretend it never happened?  
Curious fingertips danced along the trace he’d left on the other man’s skin, almost as if trying to soak up the memory of his imperfect flesh. The scars glared angrily at him, resembling white mountain ridges shining everywhere the eye could find. He knew he hoped in vain but it was still worth a try.

Minutes later, his eyes were swollen and he could barely see through the red mist in front of them. He felt vulnerable, completely and utterly at John’s mercy.  
The Italian had sent his men to beat him up instead of soiling his hands with him. _„It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.“_ , he had quoted before he’d sent them in, which had left him wondering whether John knew all these verses by heart or had had to look them up in order to justify his actions by God. For all he knew, Abruzzi could’ve just as well made it all up. After all, God was considered the ultimate judge and when seeking revenge, people would be taking His place, wouldn’t they? He’d once heard that God’s love was seen in men’s ability to forgive. Then again, he could barely remember the last time he’d dipped into the Bible, so how would he know?

John seemed to like him bloody. The Italian might’ve called himself an emissary for God but truth be told, the devilish, almost malicious grin that lit up his face reminded the smaller man more of a sinner than a saint.  
They’d done this so many times, it’d become a habit. This was different, though. He knew, John wanted him in pain. And John always got what he wanted.  
 _„Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.“_ , he heard him whisper into his ear as he pushed into him without hesitation. If he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, he figured they had a very different understanding of _blessings_. Bent over the cold metal table, pressing his eyes shut, trembling and scared and wishing he were somewhere else, he wanted to cry. His finger scratched at the hand that held him in position as he bit down harder on his lip because, _God_ , it _hurt_. Slowly, he turned his head a little, tried to catch a glimpse of the other man. Staring at John’s flushed, sweating face, he thought that whatever they’d had before got all twisted around. He didn’t want this but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words to tell John to stop - mostly because he knew he wouldn’t listen. He told himself it was okay, it’d be over soon if he just held on for a little longer.  
In between quiet sobs, he whimpered John’s name but couldn’t stop him from rocking into him unforgivingly.

His heart was pounding hard against his chest and pulsing in his head, seemingly intensifying the unbearable ache even further. He couldn’t tell whether the mobster lasted longer than usual or if it just felt like he did. It took what seemed like an eternity for Abruzzi to finally come inside of him and straighten himself up again.  
„I hope you learned your lesson, Theodore.“, he said, glaring down at him. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, _broken_ , while curling up and trying his hardest just to breathe instead of gasping and panting.

And John left him there, on the dirty concrete floor in a pool of his own blood.


End file.
